“Well,” Conway replied evasively, “a more general picture of the situation might help. If Captain Summerfield could tell me about the finding of the wreck-its position, course, or any personal impressions he can remember. For instance, would the extension each way of its direction of flight help us find its planet of origin? That would solve-”
“I’m afraid not, Doctor,” Summerfield’s voice came in. “Sighting backward we found that its course passed through a not-too-distant solar system. But this system had been mapped by us over a century previous and listed as a future possibility for colonization, which as you know means that it was devoid of intelligent life. No race can rise from nothing to a spaceship technology in one hundred years, so the wreck could not have originated in that system. Extending the line forward led nowhere- into intergalactic space, to be exact. In my opinion, the accident must have caused a violent change in course, so that the wreck’s position and course when found will tell you nothing.
“So much for that idea,” said Conway sadly, then in a more determined voice he went on, “But the other half of the wreck is out there somewhere. If we could find that, especially if it contained the body or bodies of other members of its crew, that would solve everything! I admit that it’s a roundabout way to do it, but judging by our present rate of progress it might be the fastest way. I want a search made for the other half of the wreck,” Conway ended, and waited for the storm to break.
Captain Summerfield demonstrated that he had the fastest reaction time by getting in the first blast.
“Impossible! You don’t know what you’re asking! It would take two hundred units or more-a whole Sector sub-fleet!-to cover that area in the time necessary to do you any good. And all this is just to find a dead specimen so you can analyze it and maybe help another specimen, which by that time might be dead as well. I know that life is more valuable in your book than any material considerations,” Summerfield continued in a somewhat quieter voice, “but this verges on the ridiculous. Besides, I haven’t the authority to order, or even suggest, such an operation-”
“The Hospital has,” O’Mara broke in gruffly, then to Conway: “You’re sticking your neck out, Doctor. If as a result of the search the survivor is saved, I don’t think much will be said regarding the fuss and expense caused. The Corps might even give you a pat on the back for putting them on to another intelligent species. But if this alien dies, or it turns out that it was already dead before the search was begun, you, Doctor, are for it.”
Looking at the thing honestly, Conway could not say that he was more than normally concerned about his patient, and definitely not enough to want to throw away his career in the faint hope of saving the being. It was more an angry curiosity which drove him, and a vague feeling that the conflicting data they possessed formed part of a picture which included much more than just a wreck and its lone survivor. Aliens did not build ships for the sole purpose of bewildering Earth-human doctors, so the apparently contradictory evidence had to mean something.
For a moment Conway thought he had the answer. Growing at the fringes of his mind was a dim, still-formless picture. . . which was obliterated, violently and completely, by the excited voice of Hendricks in his phones:
“Doctor, we’ve found the alien!”
I
When Conway joined him a few minutes later he found a portable airlock in position. Hendricks and the men of the rescue team had their helmets together talking, so as not to tie up the radio circuit. But the most wonderful sight of all to Conway was the tightly-stretched fabric of the lock.
There was pressure inside.
Hendricks switched suddenly to radio and said, “You can go in, Doctor. Now that we’ve found it we can open the door instead of melting through.” He indicated the taut fabric beside him and added, “Pressure in there is about twelve pounds.”